


A Thundering Scold

by geekmama



Series: Time of the Season [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 20:15:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10498674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: A scary adventure in babysitting, from Martha Hudson's point of view.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the 'Thunder' prompt.
> 
>  
> 
> ***********************

 

_“RosamundMaryWatsonSTOP!”_ came the roar of Sherlock’s voice and Martha Hudson jumped with a yelp, like she’d had a pin stuck in her, hair all on end. _What on earth?_  

She threw open the door of her flat in time to see Sherlock, grim as death, pounding barefoot down the stairs, dressing gown flying as he passed without even acknowledging her gaping presence, and out the open door of 221B. 

The _open door_. 

“No!” she gasped, and rushed to the door in his wake, but was brought up short on the threshold at the sight of little Rosie, three and a half, the spit of her mother, and fiercely loved by each and every one of her extended family, huddling in terror on the street curb in her pink pyjamas as her Uncle Sherlock bore down upon her. The poor little darling’s face crumpled and she began to wail, but Sherlock mercilessly snatched her up and held her close and fierce, scolding her in low but vehement tones as he carried her back into the house. 

Martha closed the door as Sherlock sat down with Rosie on the third step, evidently too overcome to go any further just yet. Rosie was sobbing piteously into the shoulder of his dressing gown, and Sherlock almost looked ready to weep himself. 

“Sherlock, what happened?” Martha asked, deeply concerned. The thought of Rosie coming to grief was too nightmarish to contemplate. 

“We were napping. She woke up before I did.” 

“And she left the flat alone?” 

“Yes.” Residual fear made Sherlock pull the little girl away for a moment to glare at her. “Didn’t you?” 

Poor Rosie gave another despairing cry and Sherlock gave it up, pulled her close again, and sat there rocking her, mouth set in a firm line. Then he pressed his cheek to her golden curls and said, roughly, “Hush, sweetheart. It wasn’t your fault, it was mine.” 

“Now, that’s not true,” Martha said, firmly, crouching beside the pair and gently rubbing both Rosie’s back and Sherlock’s hand. “She may only be three and a half, but she’s a very clever little girl -- too clever for her own good sometimes, and we all know where she gets that, don’t we?” 

Sherlock laughed, short and bitter, and kissed the top of Rosie’s head. Rosie, her breath still shuddering, turned her head to peek at Martha, her beautiful blue eyes wide. 

Martha moved with some difficulty ( _blast that hip!_ ), sat down on the second step, took up Rosie’s little hand, and kissed it. Then she said, “You knew you weren’t to leave the flat, Rosie, didn’t you? Else why not wake your Uncle Sherlock, hmm? My love, you must _never_ do such a thing again! You might so easily be hurt and it would _break all our hearts!_ Do you understand what that means?” 

Rosie’s lip quivered, and she did not reply, just closed her eyes and laid her flushed cheek against Uncle Sherlock’s damp chest again. 

But Martha nodded, satisfied. “Very well. We won’t mention it to your daddy this time, or to Aunt Molly. There’s no need to worry them needlessly. We’re _all_ going to be much more careful from now on.” 

“We certainly are,” Sherlock said, raising his eyes to Martha’s, a smile in them now, but a sadder and wiser one. 

Martha rose to her feet, and found that her voice was not quite steady as she said, “I’ll just go make some tea for the three of us, shall I?” 

Rosie opened her eyes at this. “Biscuits, too?” 

“Of course,” Martha said, with a smile for that sweet little chirp. “Your Uncle Sherlock really cannot have his tea without biscuits.” 

Rosie looked up at Sherlock for verification, and he said, solemnly, “It’s quite true.” 

Martha turned away to her door as they had another hug. They needed a moment to themselves, Sherlock and Rosie, just the two of them, so all could be right with the world again.

  


~.~  

 


End file.
